Daily Report & Snippet

So today has been a day of indulging kinks. I finished out a piece a friend of mine asked for me to write for her, involving her two characters. She asked for smut, I gave it, but I picked a canon moment where uh…the focus was more emotional and involved various kinks that aren’t very palatable to most people. Knife-play and blood-play are things I like to write, though, and getting into Sasha’s head was actually quite easy for me to accomplish.

It amazes me, sometimes, how easily I can hear other people’s characters and how I can write their voices with little flaw, but I struggle so hard at times with my own characters and their voices. Savin’s is easy. Jazz’s voice is getting easier to hear. Mitchel’s? Jesus Christ, man, his voice is both the hardest and the easiest for me — he speaks nothing like I do, and therefore he pulls me out of my comfort zone, prose-wise, but I also sometimes can fall flat with it.

I feel like I’m getting better at First Person POV, and that I will continue to improve as long as I continue to practice and experiment with voices. Part of the Sasha/Lee piece below, because the Savin/Jazz smut that’s getting worked on at the moment is just…less literary and more straight up porn.

***

Mine. Mine. Soon enough, he’s laid bare before me. He’s still begging, his voice growing shrill. I wonder just how much he can take — just how much he’ll let me do to him in desperation. My knife feels so light in my hands as I slide along the length of his body, alternating between chaste kisses and harsh bites. If my teeth don’t break skin, and they often do, then they surely will leave deep bruises behind.

No matter how much pain I put him through, his arousal remains unbridled. It’s how I know he truly wants this, that his begging is true. I should take him now, while my own arousal is at its peak, before my knife finds the edge of the first jagged cut and extends it. Instead, I situate myself between his legs, letting my mouth surround him.

Even the pleasure I’m giving him doesn’t keep him from urging me for more. I close my eyes and allow myself a moment to listen, to drink it all in before stopping yet again. The shallow cuts on his legs and the impressions of my teeth all over make me smile. He writhes, pleads for more as I straighten myself and press my knife against the skin of his chest.

I may be a Monster, but at least I am his Monster. The Monster he craves more and more each day. The rest of my mark is made slowly as I relish the way his skin gives way to the blade, the way his blood pools and rushes down the plains of his stomach. The whole time, he cries and whimpers, but never shies away from my touch, or my knife. Ecstasy fills his face just as the pain does, warping it, making it exceptionally beautiful.

“Mine,” I growl again, just as I finish the last of the crude S I carved into his skin. I give him no time to recover, no time to try and staunch the flow of blood as I slip my own pants over the edge of my hips.

When I fill him, he lets out another whimper and clutches my arms, eyes welling with tears. He doesn’t stop me. On reaches for me, pulls me closer. With each rock of my hips, his ecstasy grows, becomes more apparent. More tangible, more mine.

His blood soaks my clothes, soaks the sheets of the bed beneath us. It doesn’t matter. Nothing matters. Not even that damned promise. I bite his shoulder, causing him to cry out yet again. My hands are sticky with his blood, with our sweat as our bodies move in tandem.

It’s not long before it’s all too much, and when my own pleasure reaches its peak, I make sure to run my fingers along that mark, the one I gave and took away, only to give again. This time, it was received willingly. Desired. Begged for.

As I wrap my fingers around Lee to help him reach his own edge, they’re coated in his blood. When he cries out, he looks blissful. Even at peace, despite how much I’ve hurt him. How much blood he’s lost. We kiss, and it’s obvious he hardly has any energy left.

“My Monster,” he breathes as we break apart, a faint smile on his lips. Pleasure fades away, leaving only the pain behind.